


Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 11, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25675102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: As they are coming back together as a couple, Mulder and Scully experiment with taking sexy pictures.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture

**Author's Note:**

> Set during season 11.
> 
> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

“Missed you today,” Scully says, when the two of them are sitting together over dinner. She smiles at him, touches his hand.

It makes Mulder so happy to hear her say it, after he’s been missing her for what feels like forever. He knows she missed him too, in the days they were apart—she told him as much, quietly, in the still morning hours, one of the first times they were together again, still finding their way. He knows that now. But when it was actually happening, it felt like she was a million miles away. He would imagine her without him, better than ever, finally perfectly happy. So it means a lot, to hear her says she missed him now, when they haven’t even been apart for twenty-four hours.

“I missed you too,” he says, because it’s true.

“I was thinking about you,” she says. There’s a little bit of a flush on her cheeks, and her voice is low. He knows her well enough that he doesn’t need to ask what kind of thinking she was doing.

“Yeah?” he says. “That’s…that’s intriguing, Scully.” Sometimes she still makes him inarticulate.

She’s smiling. “Can you blame me?” she asks. “After this weekend?” She has a fair point: they did spend most of the weekend in bed, getting very well reacquainted. She even spent the night on Saturday, although she went home on Sunday. It’s a progression, right now. He hopes they’ll eventually make it the whole way, is starting to believe they really will. “I even thought about texting you a dirty picture,” she says, in the same tone she used earlier to ask him how much salad he wanted, and _that_ he did not expect.

“Oh,” he says. “I…Can I ask why you didn’t follow through?”

“Yeah,” she says, laughing now. “I thought about the cloud and I chickened out.”

“Entirely reasonable,” he says.

“You know, that’s what I love about you,” she says. “You have a healthy fear of being watched.”

“I do,” he said. “On the other hand, I’m reasonably certain we’re not being watched now. Are you finished eating?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Scully in the flesh is better than any picture. A picture can’t engage all five of his senses, can’t moan his name, can’t move against him in a way that feels as right as breathing air. And it can’t lean against him when they’re done, receptive to soft kisses, eventually murmuring, “Is it all right if I stay? For tonight?”

“You know it is, Scully,” he says, and as she’s drifting off to sleep next to him he allows himself to imagine that _for tonight_ isn’t part of the equation. That it’s for all the nights.

And then he thinks about what she said earlier, about dirty pictures. They’ve never exchanged any: maybe it really is all that surveillance, making them leery. He carried a picture of her with him all through 2001 and 2002, when they were apart, but there wasn’t anything dirty about it in the slightest: she was fully clothed, in a green sweater and slacks, sitting on his couch, a smile on her face. The picture was from 2000, when their romantic relationship was still new; he’d loved knowing he could make her smile like that. (He still did.) And he’d carried that picture until it was crinkled and faded, feeling like it was all he had of her, sometimes. It was still in his office, now.

But dirty pictures were another thing entirely, and he can’t say he isn’t intrigued at the thought, wasn’t imagining what this hypothetical picture Scully could have sent would have been like. Would it have given just a hint of the erotic, or would it have left nothing to the imagination? Either possibility would have its attractions, and he’s half hard just thinking about them. But she’s right. There is the cloud.

Not that phones are the only way you can take pictures. You almost forget that sometimes, nowadays, but it’s true. Maybe they could…He has an idea.

He waits to bring it up with Scully until that Friday, though, when they have a whole weekend stretching ahead of them. She’s at the house for dinner again. She’s at the house for dinner most nights, now, and sometimes he still makes something special, but sometimes she insists that it’s her turn to cook, and sometimes they get take-out, and sometimes they just have leftovers. Sometimes Mulder tries to play it cool, like he doesn’t notice what’s happening, but then Scully smiles at him and he forgets about that.

Tonight, they have lasagna. “So I was thinking about what you said the other day,” he says, “about dirty pictures.”

“Oh?” she says, raising an eyebrow at him. “You better not try to make me ignore the cloud against my better judgment.”

“I’d never do such a thing,” Mulder says. “No, I was thinking…old school. Very old school. Not even digital.”

“You want to take dirty pictures on film?” she asks. “And who would be developing them?”

“We would,” he says. “Right in the moment.” And as she looks at him inquiringly, he adds, “I found an old Polaroid camera.”

She laughs. “Wow. I’d heard they were hip again, but I haven’t used one of those in ages.” Then she’s quiet, turning back to her dinner. Mulder’s sure that she’s as aware as he is that she hasn’t really given him any kind of response to the idea.

“Of course we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says. “I was just thinking…we’ve never done it and it might be fun. Might be more than fun, really.”

“I didn’t think you were going to try to force me into it,” Scully says. “I was just taking a minute to think, that’s all.” She puts down her fork. “What are you going to do with the pictures once we’ve taken them?”

“I don’t know,” he says; he hasn’t really thought it through in that kind of practical detail. “Keep them to look at, I guess. You can have some too, if you want.”

“Why would I want to look at pictures of myself?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

She gives him a look. “No,” she says. “No, if we’re going to do this, it’ll go both ways. You can take pictures of me,” she clarifies, “and I’ll take pictures of you.”

He hadn’t thought about that, but it’s erotic too, in its own way. Scully on the other side of the camera, directing him in what to do. “All right,” he says. “Deal.”

“Deal,” she says. “Tonight?”

“If you’re ready.”

“Sure, I’m always ready,” she says.

“Okay, I lied,” Scully says half an hour later, poking her head out of the bathroom. “I’m not always ready.”

“We don’t have to do this,” Mulder says. “Maybe it was a dumb idea.”

“No,” she says, coming out of the bathroom now; she still has a robe on, belted tightly. “No, it wasn’t a dumb idea, Mulder. I’m just…weirdly nervous about it.”

“Which part?” he asks. “Committing your body eternally to film?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “No. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. No, not about the pictures themselves. More about taking them.”

“It’s just me,” he says. “You don’t have to be…am I making you nervous?”

“No, not really,” she says. “And I know it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. But it just feels different. Having you see me when we’re together and having you…just look. And take pictures.”

“That makes sense, I think,” he says. “We can start slow, if you want. Nothing too explicit.” She doesn’t say anything, so he tries to think of another suggestion. “Or you can take the first one,” he says, holding the camera out to her.

She looks at him and then takes it in her hands. “Yeah,” she says, “I’ll do that.”

As soon as she’s holding the camera he sees what she meant, about it feeling different. He doesn’t want to take off his robe either, which is ridiculous; Scully’s seen him in numerous states of undress, but it’s never felt quite this focused, this calculated. “Now I’m the one who’s nervous,” he says.

“We can stop if you want,” she says. “Put the camera away.” But even if it’s making him nervous, there’s also something he likes about the look on her face, about the way her eyes are darkening as they flit from him to the camera in her hands.

“No,” he says. “No, I don’t want to stop.”

“Then we can start slow, like you said,” Scully says. “Lie on the bed, but keep your robe on.”

He nods, not feeling ready to speak at the moment, and lies down. He’s not sure how she wants him, so he poses like a pin-up girl, hands behind his head, one knee coyly bent.

Scully bursts out laughing. “Damnit,” she says, “this was your idea and now you’re not taking it seriously.”

“Why should we be serious?” he asks. “I told you, Scully, I wanted this to be fun. Are you not having fun?”

“Yeah,” Scully says, “I’m having lots of fun,” and she takes the picture then, before he was expecting it.

“Hey!” he says, but they both know he’s not mad. She stands there shaking the picture, the other hand on her hip, the camera around her neck. When it appears, she holds it out to show him.

It’s not really sexy in any sense of the word, Mulder thinks, although on the other hand he’s not particularly interested in looking at pictures of himself. It’s just him, lying back, smiling at her, goofing around. But the ice has been broken.

“Your turn,” he says, and she hands the camera to him and goes to lie down on the bed. Somehow the same pose is much sexier when she’s doing it.

“Will you…take off your robe,” she says, when he hands the camera back. He likes the way her voice falls, making it a statement rather than a question, a slight hint of bossiness. She’s getting into this, even if it was his idea, and she’s finding ways to up the stakes.

He takes it off—he’s wearing just his boxers now—and when he’s moving towards the bed, she coaches him like this is some high-stakes photo shoot. “Sit on the edge. About an inch to the right. Good. Now put your hands on your knees. Lean forwards.” And, just when he’s starting to get really turned on, “Oh, yeah, give me those bedroom eyes.” Now he’s both turned on and laughing, which has happened with her more times than he can count over the years, and which he’s convinced is an underrated state. She’s laughing too. He hears the click of the shutter again.

She doesn’t take her robe off all the way for the next picture, but she pulls the sides apart, revealing just enough of her breasts. If she’d ever texted him that, he knows he would have forgotten all about whatever he was doing. Her hair’s falling into her face, her eyes peeking out. She’s not laughing now, but she’s still smiling. A sexy little smile. He stares through the viewfinder, almost forgetting to take the picture.

“It’s a little unfair, Scully,” he says, when it’s his turn to pose again. “I’m already a lot more undressed than you are.”

“I know,” she says. “Keep your boxers on for this one, if you want.”

He keeps them on and reclines with his legs angled towards her. He rests one hand on his crotch, strokes himself lightly through the fabric. He can hear her breathing.

Another picture.

She sheds her robe, then; she’s wearing light blue underpants, and her hair loose over her shoulders, and nothing in between. She makes eye contact with him as she brings her hands slowly up to her breasts, cupping them, her thumbs running over her nipples.

“Mulder.” Her voice is soft, aroused, affectionate. “Take the picture.”

He does.

She gets up from the bed and takes the camera from him. Their hands linger a little more than necessary in the changeover. He sheds his boxers then—quickly, before he can think about it too much, because there’s still a bit of strangeness in being preserved on film this way—and kneels on the bed.

“Oh,” Scully says softly. “That’s good.” Her eyes are on him, on all of him. He only gets harder at that.

And then she’s naked too, for the next picture. “What do you want me to do?” she asks, as she goes over to the bed.

“Lots of things,” he says.

“For the picture,” she says.

“Then…touch yourself for me,” he says, and she does, her hand dipping between her legs, her eyes never moving from him.

He’s not sure how much film is left in the camera, and he barely gets to the bed before she grabs it back from him and pulls him down with her. “Smile,” she says, and then she’s holding the camera out for what is doubtless a very skewed selfie, and then she puts it down on the bedside table and kisses him with all the pent-up passion that, when you think about it, a session of taking sexy polaroids is bound to produce. He returns the kiss, his hands grabbing at her hair, and they fall back on the bed then, hands and mouths everywhere. Looking is amazing. Touching is even better.

Afterwards, they look through the pictures together, lying back among the sheets. She’s the most erotic sight he’s ever seen, of course. He doesn’t think the pictures of him are quite on that level (although when he says so, Scully says, “I think you’re very sexy, Mulder,” and it still feels like hearing her tell him she wanted him for the first time), but there is an appeal to them, to knowing Scully took them.

They did this together, that’s the main thing. Tonight he got her see her face in laughter and in lust, and that’s not something he’ll ever take for granted. Especially not now.

He holds up the last picture, the one of both of them. The top of his head is a little bit cut off, but Scully managed to capture both of their faces, her cheek pressed to his. “This came out better than I expected,” he says.

“Mmm,” she says. “You should have more faith in me.”

“I should,” he agrees, and he kisses her. “Do you want this one? When we split them up?”

She’s quiet for a minute, and then she puts her hand on top of his. “Let’s not split them up,” she says. “Let’s keep them all here.”

His heart leaps at that, but he doesn’t want to assume. “Do you mean…do you not want any or…?”

“I want some,” Scully says. “But I want to keep mine here. With us. I want to be here.” Her voice is determined, but there’s a little shyness in her eyes.

“Well,” he says, “I think that that’s the best idea anyone’s come up with all night.”

“Aww,” she says, and now she’s smiling. “Better than sexy polaroids?”

“Much,” he says. She kisses him slowly, and he holds her close. The pictures and the camera are still there, next to their bed.


End file.
